


Like Bottled Water

by itsmadeofgold



Series: HS!AU [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician) All, kradam - Fandom
Genre: Kradam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmadeofgold/pseuds/itsmadeofgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Start On The Inside (Work Your Way Out); it takes place several months later, as Adam's graduation approaches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Bottled Water

At first neither of us particularly wanted anybody to know. All _I_ wanted to know was that I was a real part of Adam’s life, for him to include and acknowledge me - I wasn’t dying to tell the world we were making out at every possible opportunity. And even though Adam was more than enthusiastic about finding opportunities to make out, he wasn’t exactly interested in screaming it from mountaintops, either.

In the beginning the secrecy gave us the safety and privacy to really get comfortable, so it was just the exact right thing - since we didn’t have to worry about anything or anybody else, we could focus on each other. It made everything seem really intense and special, like we were in the middle of our own heart-pounding romance, and nobody knew but us. And it worked great for me, because I felt like I only had enough attention for Adam, anyway. There was just so much to learn about him, so many ways to kiss him and places to do it, I wasn’t interested in anything that would distract me. He and I, alone together, made sense - I didn’t want to make it complicated or scary.

I think I pretended for a while that it could always be that simple. I wished it could be.

So when he suddenly decided he was ready to tell, I kind of froze. I was laying out this big fluffy purple blanket I’d brought from home - my mom never missed it and I had been wanting to have a place to sit down here - and he said something about how he wanted to take me to this party a friend of his was having. As his date.

It’s not like he’d never introduced me to his friends, or that I’d never hung out with them. I had been planning to go to that party anyway. But he really emphasized the _date_ part, saying that he thought it would be alright, that starting with his friends would be the smartest, easiest way to go.

I was stunned for a second; I felt totally unprepared. It didn’t even occur to me that it was kind of a major gesture on his part, all I could do was cough and blush and say I didn’t think I was ready. He was cool about it. He said he knew it was a big step and he didn’t want me to feel rushed; all that good boyfriend stuff. It was really cute and endearing, to be honest. We sat on the blanket on the floor and talked, and then that dissolved into kissing which turned into laying-down kissing, which in the end made me feel better about life in general. Especially the part where I thought to bring a blanket down here.

I all but forgot about his suggestion, and he never brought it up again. I was relieved, at first.

But as time went by I thought about it more and more, and in the weeks after I gradually began to feel like maybe I _was_ ready.

Adam had been way younger than me when he’d come out, and he had done just fine. I knew my mom knew already - her comments about Adam had stopped even being subtle - and the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was time to stop pretending.

When I realized I was more excited than scared - that I’d become impatient instead of dreading it - I knew I was right.

So I said as much to him one day during lunch. He had found this old couch way back in a corner under a sheet of plastic and was Febrezing one of the cushions when I told him I had done a lot of thinking, and was ready to talk about it again. He made the weirdest face, and I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t like the smell or what I was saying.

He held the cushion away from himself and kicked it a few times, like being sure there was nothing gross on it, then worked on slipping it into a yellow pillowcase he’d brought from home. It was a tight fit but he made it work, and when he was done he threw it down on the blanket, looking pretty satisfied with himself.

He wasn’t answering me, though, or even looking in my direction. It was making me tense.

“OK,” he finally said. “But not right away, OK? Can we just... pick our moment?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and I don’t know if he totally was either, because he had an oddly confused look on his face. But he reached out and took my hands, one in each of his, pulling me close and leaning down to kiss me, so I didn’t have a chance to answer. I thought about it while he was kissing me, and then as he was pulling me down to lay beside him with our heads on the surprisingly comfortable cushion - _pick our moment?_

Did he mean like he was waiting for something significant? He couldn’t possibly mean the prom, could he?

What would Adam consider the right moment?

For a while I kept wondering, thinking that he had some big romantic reveal planned, which just didn’t seem _right_. Considering our whole history of secrecy and my having put this moment off - being obviously nervous about it - I think it was pretty clear I didn’t want to do anything showy. It didn’t make sense for Adam to want to save the news for a special occasion, or even for him to think it was up to him to decide.

I tried to ask him about it a few times but he would never give me a straight answer; he kept saying that the time wasn’t right, that we’d talk about it later. I let it go for a while then, not understanding what he was thinking but not wanting to start a fight. The truth is, his non-response was so weird and unexpected that I had no idea what to make of it or how to proceed, and it made me nervous. He’d brought it up first - why would he avoid it now?

But then I _kept_ not asking him because I started to get scared of what the answer would be if he ran out of ways to put me off. It finally hit me that the school year would be over soon and he’d be graduating, and then he’d be gone, and then--

Maybe it was as simple as wanting to be able to make a clean break.

Maybe he thought it would be unnecessarily messy to make _us_ known - and to take part in my coming out in the process - if there wasn’t going to be an us much longer.

I finally got up the nerve to bring it up again yesterday, feeling like I would lose my mind if I put it off anymore. He was messing with this little iPod speaker set he’d gotten the day before; I told him he must really badly want us to get caught if he thinks playing music down here is a good idea, but he said he would keep it quiet. He dragged an old desk over and set the speakers on top, then sat cross-legged in front of me as something mellow and quiet started to play.

I told him, again, that I’m ready to be honest. My voice was a little shaky this time when I asked how he wanted to start.

“It can be super subtle,” I said. “Holding hands at the movies or something. Or just telling a couple of people.”

He was quiet for a minute, and I found myself listening to the music while I stared at him, waiting for him to say something. It didn’t seem like it should be that hard. He had to say yes, now, didn’t he? Wasn’t it obvious how much it meant to me? It had been too long, it was _time_ \- I wanted to do it - what more could he say?

“Not now,” he said. “It’s too close to graduation.”

Then it was my turn to be silent, because I had no idea what he was even talking about, or what these things had to do with each other. I felt like I was going crazy.

“I’ll be gone soon, and you’ll be here alone,” he continued when I just kept staring. “There’s no point in putting you through that now.” He shrugged.

“What?”

“I would just worry about you,” Adam said. “I don’t want to leave here knowing you’re having a hard time. What’s the point?”

“What’s the _point?_ You think we can just sneak around for two more years? You think _I_ can? If you really thought I’d ever go for that, you might as well just break up with me now.”

I felt light-headed when I said it.

“What the fuck? No!” he said, and scooted in closer to me. I fought an urge to move away. “No, of course not. I just mean there’s no point in coming out _right now_ , right before graduation, right before you’re going to be here at school without me. _And_ right before I have to start college--it would be horrible to be worrying about what you’re dealing with back here. OK? Is that so totally crazy?”

“Well, it’s April,” I said. “And you don’t start college until August. So it’s not like _imminent._ We have all summer.”

“It’s not the same. When you start back in the fall, it’ll be worse. And that’s when I won’t be here.”

“So then what--” I started, but I knew as I was speaking that I wasn’t going to get through the sentence; my internal timer has gotten very good at knowing when lunch period is up, and right on cue the bell rang, interrupting me. Adam had never really answered the most important question, and I knew that now he wouldn’t.

We both stood, and he reached down to press stop on his iPod, leaving it there on the desk. He knew nobody would disturb it. We walked around the blanket on the way to the stairs, and when we got to the top he turned to me with a face that looked pleading. I didn’t understand the expression, didn’t feel like I understood him at all, really.

How much longer could the secret mystery basement bullshit last? Could I just keep doing it until he was gone, just because he made that face at me? Just because he _wanted_ me to? And then, what, come back to school next year and lie my ass off every day until I graduate? Just so he won’t have to worry?

Meanwhile I would have nothing at all to hold onto, not even the small confidence of being able to publicly call him my boyfriend. He would go, and I’d be here living a miserable lie for him when he wouldn’t even give me _that._

He was making it all about him. But even worse, so was I.

I walked away from him and made it to sixth on time, but couldn’t pay attention in class. I kept thinking about him - about _it_ , the issue - for the rest of the day and all damn night. And all I kept thinking was that we were both missing the point.

So today he’s leaning back on the cushion, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling instead of looking at me. I hate that. His t-shirt is a little bit small and is riding up in the middle, showing a stripe of belly that I have to restrain myself from touching. I hate that even more. I’m sitting close to him, cross-legged, my knee almost touching his hip. I can feel a little warmth there, that place where we almost touch; I wonder how long that would last.

If we stayed together, I mean, how long would I feel that weird electric connection? That intense awareness of our bodies? I want to know. It’s frustrating, because he either takes it as a given that we’ll always be together or doesn’t give a shit whether we are or not, and I’m not sure which would be more infuriating. Because it feels like work to me, and he’s just looking up at the ceiling - his lips moving as he lip-syncs the song that’s playing - at this second when I feel like everything might finally come together or just completely fall apart.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, and there’s that light-headed feeling again, like I’m saying something I can’t take back, something dangerous. “It’s not up to you, in the end.” He turns to look at me, finally, and his eyebrows are coming together in the middle - it looks like worry. “You can be a part of it or not, but it’s not about you. If you really don’t want people to know about us, that’s--fine, OK.” I shake my head. “That’s one issue. But you can’t keep me from telling the truth about myself.”

“OK,” he says, and his face changes from worry to this thoughtful expression I can’t quite place. “Of course it’s up to you. But do you--do you really have to do it now?”

“Why not?” I say, exasperated.

He brings his arms down to his sides and then rolls over, propping himself up on an elbow. “I just don’t want you to have to go through it,” he says. “I guess that sounds stupid, but--” He shrugs. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, fuck,” I say. “What am I supposed to do about that? I can’t lie about it forever, and you shouldn’t want me to, anyway. You survived it.”

“I know, that’s why I hate thinking about you having to. It freaks me out--now more than it used to.”

“I can handle it. I’m not as fragile as you think. And it was your idea, anyway, in case you forgot.”

I feel anger bubbling up. He hasn’t even answered whether he’d be willing to be with me on this - to come out as my boyfriend along with me. As if it’s not irritating enough that it’s even a question when I used to take it for a given, he’s avoided that topic completely while trying to talk me out of telling the truth, all while pretending it’s out of some kind of misguided concern. He of all people should know that what he’s asking is ridiculous, and instead he’s acting like it’s romantic, like it’s a sign of how much he cares.

“I love you, you know,” he says.

My brain stops for a minute, tripping over it, then randomly screams to let me know that the bell is about to ring, that we don’t have time to properly deal with this. But he’s still talking, quickly now, because he knows we’re running out of time, too.

“I never worried about when or how we came out, because I knew eventually we would. But when I _did_ think about it, I always pictured us dealing with it together. That’s how I thought of it when I first brought it up, and I thought we were ready. I still do, it’s just that now when I think of it, I see you alone here--and some of those assholes out there, if they ever--it pisses me off to think of it. I’d want to be here, even just in case.” He sighs. “I know you’re not helpless and you’d have to--you’d have your problems like everybody else with or without me. And I know--OK, I know it’s really shitty for me to ask you not to do it, to hide or whatever. And I officially take that back now, OK?” He sits up, his knees touching mine. He’s shaking his head. “That was stupid. But I wasn’t thinking of it that way. Of, you know, what it would really be like for you here, keeping up a lie. I just wanted it to be easy for us now, to keep this--”

“I don’t see how you can think we could keep hiding this forever, if we were actually going to stay together. That’s the thing. How were you planning on playing that off at college, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kind of hot. I know you know that. So what do you do with all those guys at school who are going to want you?”

This shocked look crosses his face, like he’s never considered it. He looks hurt, and I want to laugh.

“Stop acting like you haven’t thought about this,” I say.

“I haven’t!” He leans in closer, and so help me, I’m smiling when he lays a hand on each of my shoulders. “I swear, all I’ve thought about is how much gas is going to cost driving from here to there and back. I’m an idiot, obviously, because I haven’t been considering the right things. But you don’t have to worry. We’ll talk about that shit, OK? Lesson learned?”

The bell rings just as I’m wondering whether we’ve actually learned any lessons or not, and I’m just starting to realize that we didn’t actually resolve anything when Adam leans in to kiss me quickly and then stands, pulling me up with him. He has a small smile on his face as one hand brushes quickly over my cheek while the other grips mine tightly.

He turns, leading me to the stairs and up with quick steps. I loosen my grip as he opens the door but he doesn’t, holding firm as he walks through, pulling me into the hallway behind him and then taking another three steps, bringing us into the open area outside the cafeteria. He has this wicked look on his face when he turns to me, and it reminds me of when we first started, when he tugged on my backpack and I thought _people will see!_

People can see us now. There are kids streaming by, out of the caf and toward their lockers or back to class. I can already see a couple of girls stopping, watching, whispering to each other. It probably does look weird, the way we’re just standing here staring at each other. Adam holds my hand tighter and pulls me close, his free hand coming up to lay on the back of my neck as he leans down to kiss me.

It’s silent at first and then I hear a roar; a loud rushing sound that at first I assume must be hysteria erupting around us but then realize is my own blood pounding in my ears. Once the rush is gone I hear laughter, some harsh whispering and loud chatter, my heart slamming into my ribcage. I become aware that my hand is a tight fist on Adam’s back and I force myself to relax it, make myself unclench. I can feel him smiling against my mouth, like my paralyzed reaction amuses him.

When I’m finally able to move I retaliate by opening my mouth, flicking my tongue and letting my body move up against him, and I hear voices around me hoot in apparent appreciation for the show. And then I can’t help it, I start laughing, my forehead finding Adam’s shoulder as I shake against him. It’s mostly relief, I think, a giddy high.

I turn my head and open my eyes to see that we haven’t created much of a scene - a few people are watching but even their shock looks amused, and some are laughing. If anything they seem delighted to have had something interesting happen in an otherwise run-of-the-mill day. The one person who seems at all irritated is a girl in black glaring from the corner, and I can’t help but think she might just be pissed that I get to make out with Adam and she doesn’t. I resist the urge to stick out my tongue, and then have to battle more giggles.

“Alright, guys,” I hear a voice say, and turn around to see Mrs. Pfeffer, my health teacher, coming toward us. “I think you’d better get to class.”

A few freshman girls have drawn nearer, waiting to see if there’s going to be some kind of drama to spice up the story when they tell it later. They must be disappointed, then, that the teacher is smiling as I take a step away from Adam, still holding his hand.

“I’ll see you in a minute, then, Kris?” she says, and I nod, still grinning. She steps around us, heading away, down the hall.

“OK,” I say, then turn to look at Adam. He is smiling, too, although it’s a weird, concerned smile. I hate that, so although I know the clock is ticking and this moment is over, I move up for one more quick kiss.

“I love you, too, you know,” I say. I guess somebody might’ve heard it, but that’s OK; I hope they did. The most important thing is that his unsure smile turns into a big, beaming one, and that’s what I needed to see.

I do feel kind of ready to scream it from a mountaintop at the moment, so at the very least he should know it.


End file.
